


You are the New Day

by Aipilosse



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Christmas, Christmas Caroling, Christmas Fluff, First Kiss, Gift Giving, M/M, Ost-in-Edhil, Romance, Second Age, Taxes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-16
Updated: 2020-12-16
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:00:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28101309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aipilosse/pseuds/Aipilosse
Summary: Celebrimbor faces a different holiday than usual in Ost-in-Edhil. Annatar tries to help, but Celebrimbor's feelings towards him just makes everything more difficult.
Relationships: Annatar/Celebrimbor | Telperinquar, Celebrimbor | Telperinquar/Sauron | Mairon
Comments: 21
Kudos: 40
Collections: Tolkien Secret Santa 2020





	You are the New Day

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Harp_of_Gold](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Harp_of_Gold/gifts).



> Thank you to the wonderful [bunn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bunn/pseuds/bunn) for being a beta for this story.
> 
> [ibrithir-was-here](https://ibrithir-was-here.tumblr.com/) drew a lovely [Celebrimbor and Annatar](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/view/ibrithir-was-here/638077594859880448) for this story! The art really captures the mood perfectly.

“When are you leaving for your trip south?” Celebrimbor asked. He didn’t look up from etching the tiny geometric pattern on the instrument he was finishing. He was really just looking for an excuse to keep Annatar in the room with him. He expected Annatar to get up and leave at any moment; aimless conversation bored him, and while Annatar was many things, brilliant, beautiful, insightful, even sometimes funny, no one would accuse him of being polite. At most, he deigned to have decorum. 

“I’m not going south this year,” Annatar said. He continued watching Celebrimbor work.

Celebrimbor almost dropped his stylus. “Really? You’re going to be here for Turuhalmë ?”

“Yes, I’ll be in Ost-in-Edhil for the solstice. Is that notable?”

“You’ve just never celebrated with us.” Celebrimbor tried to smile playfully. “I’ll have to introduce you to all our customs. There is gift giving of course, and hymns to Varda through the longest night and other traditional songs. There are many special dishes we only eat once a year. And here in Ost-in-Edhil, we’ve begun adopting other traditions. There’s a dwarvish play that is always performed, and many customs of the Edain we’ve begun to adopt. There’s one where they go from door to door singing for food, and another humorous one with mistletoe.”  _ Stop talking,  _ he ordered himself.  _ You are transparent enough without trying to steer the conversation that way. _

Annatar looked amused. “You speak as if I don’t have to hear the recap of every holiday when I return. If I recall, last year Eglerion and Dinim had a rather unanticipated encounter due to the placement of some mistletoe.” 

“Of course.” Celebrimbor resumed etching. “This year you’ll be spared the reenactments and you can experience it all for yourself.” 

He was more excited than he should be over the prospect of Annatar spending Turuhalmë with them. There was just something magical and, if he was being honest with himself, romantic about the winter solstice. He was also strangely nervous. There was no reason to be; Annatar had already seen every side of Ost-in-Edhil and the Gwaith-i-Mírdain, and no seasonal celebration was going to alter his perception of them. He’d seen the petty revilaries, the arguments over trade with the Khazad, the moments of genius, the failures they’d spent years over, and most recently, family squabbles with political ramifications. No matter what happened this solstice, it was unlikely to cause him to leave them after all these years. 

_ Valar _ ,  _ what am I going to make him? _ Celebrimbor wondered. The problem wasn’t a lack of inspiration for a gift; he had too many ideas, and no clue how he was going to find time to create any of them. 

~

The official council meeting ended hours ago, but they were through less than half the pile of records on the table. Celebrimbor had stood up half an hour ago, hoping that standing would force him to work faster and impart a sense of urgency to Galadriel and Celeborn’s secretaries. It did not seem to be working; they continued turning through pages slowly, with a smug air about them.

“I don’t understand why we set all the deadlines at the same time. Surely we should use a variety of dates throughout the whole year to avoid occasions such as this,” Celebrimbor said.

Raenel sighed heavily. “Take it up with the High King next time you see him then.” 

Celebrimbor bit back a retort. He was lucky Raenel had stayed to help him. She could have washed her hands of what was essentially family drama and left him to wade through this mess on his own. He glanced at the light out the window. He’d been counting on this time to work on his gift for Annatar, and now the time was slipping through his fingers.

He still couldn’t believe Galadriel was leaving. He had thought their fight over increased ties to the human settlements in and near Eregion was just like all the other many times they’d disagreed. They argued often, over foreign and domestic policy on the Council, and matters of aesthetics and philosophy outside it, but despite their high passions they always had managed to come to an agreement. Not this time. This fight had spiraled out of control, with accusations of hubris on both sides and unflattering comparisons across the board. And then the knives had really come out.  _ I shouldn’t have brought up Finrod _ , he reflected.  _ But then she shouldn’t have brought up Annatar. _ Now they were out two councilors, because if Galadriel left Celeborn would follow, and right on time for the yearly accounting they sent to Lindon.

He wasn’t facing the door, but he knew the moment Annatar stepped into the room. It was like the feeling when a storm was about the break—an almost barometric shift that it seemed only he could recognize. 

“I thought the council meeting was over hours ago,” Annatar said, looking over his shoulder.

Celebrimbor let himself fantasize for a moment about leaning back against Annatar. Then Annatar would wrap his arms around him and—

“As Galadriel and Celeborn have left the Council, they have sent us their share of the annual accounting we must send Gil-galad.” Celebrimbor dropped his fantasy and reentered the real world of endless lines of numbers.

“I still don’t understand why you’re doing this. I know you have accountants—I’ve met them.”

“There are a handful who handle taxes for the Gwaith-i-Mírdain, but that’s already one quarter of Eregion’s yearly taxes. They’re too busy to take on more.”

Annatar gave him an indecipherable look. Was he confused? Did he think Celebrimbor was an idiot? Was that admiration? He couldn’t tell. 

“Are you too busy for our plans tonight?” Annatar asked.

Raenel looked between them. “These aren’t due until tomorrow…”

Celebrimbor sighed. That was true, but there went more time he had planned to use on Annatar’s gift. 

“Alright, I’ll finish this tomorrow.”

“Or, you could ask the people whose job it is to finish this to do their work.”

Celebrimbor shot Annatar a look. He felt unable to explain to him why he must clean up the mess of their two absent council members’ papers. It was only partly because he didn’t want to reveal that Annatar was half the cause of the fight.

Celebrimbor pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes. “I’m sorry, what were we doing this evening?”

“We were going to look at the coded scrolls that the Numenorean trader had brought you.” 

“Oh, right,” Celebrimbor tried to keep the dismay from his voice.

Annatar tilted his head. “The ancient codes will keep for another day. Come on.”

Annatar led them out of the southern doors of the capitol building to a rise that overlooked the main market square. Celebrimbor’s breath caught for a moment as he gazed over the city. The inhabitants of Ost-in-Edhil had been busy while he’d been trapped in council meetings all day. There were always lights at night in Ost-in-Edhil, but during the darkest part of the year thousands of colored lanterns were brought out and strung between the houses and market stalls. Greenery was cut from the surrounding evergreen forests and twisted in wreaths and garlands, bright berries and glittering decorations entwined among the branches. 

Celebrimbor took a deep breath and slowly let out. He could smell the pine from here, mixing with the delicious spicy scent of the seasonal foods vendors had begun preparing. They hadn’t had a proper snow that stuck for more than a day yet, but something in the air suggested that it might come tonight. 

He glanced over at Annatar, and was surprised to see him staring back. He never knew how to read Annatar’s looks. Sometimes he could swear there was some measure of attraction towards Celebrimbor in those fathomless eyes. Other days it reminded him more of the way an entomologist would look at a particularly strange bug.

Celebrimbor broke the silence before he could do something foolish. “Shall we go down to the market?”

As they walked down the winding road to the market the first flakes of snow began to fall.

~

The market was busy. Celebrimbor bought himself and Annatar cups of mulled wine to sip as they browsed through the stalls. As he was examining some small artworks, thinking about purchasing some to send to his friends in Lindon, an elf ran up with arms full of greenery. 

“My Lord, you need a crown!” He precariously shuffled his holly crowns so one arm held them and set one on Celebrimbor’s head. 

Celebrimbor laughed. “You know I don’t customarily wear crowns, but I will never turn down one of holly.”

“Always happy to assist, Lord Celebrimbor. Now, who needs the next crown?” 

“Her, I think.” Celebrimbor pointed at a small Edain girl who was staring at them both with a rapt expression. The elf turned and bowed to her as dramatically as he could with his arms full, before getting on one knee to set a holly crown on her head.

“Here,” said Annatar, setting a hand on his shoulder. Celebrimbor turned towards him, a question dying on his lips. The colored lights played over Annatar’s face, casting it in a soft glow. The golden shimmer of his hair and eyes stood out from the white sparkling flakes that fell around them. Annatar stepped closer and carefully straightened the crown on Celebrimbor’s brow. 

“There,” he said, his face still perilously close to Celebrimbor’s. “Now you are a proper Turuhalmë king.” 

Lucky for him that they were in a crowded market square, otherwise Celebrimbor would not have been able to resist leaning down and kissing Annatar, no matter the consequences.

“Thank you,” he said with a smile, and managed to step away, looking at the goods for sale with unseeing eyes.

That night, like a sentimental fool, Celebrimbor placed the crown on his mantle. It was already more special than any other circlet he owned.

~

Despite the mountain of paperwork he had the next day, Celebrimbor couldn’t bring himself to regret the evening spent with Annatar. He felt foolish, smiling to himself for no reason, when nothing had happened, and Annatar remained as remote as ever, but the warm glow inside still kept him going until at least lunch time. 

After lunch, his responsibilities pulled him away from recordkeeping and any chance of working on Annatar’s gift. There were countless projects members of the Gwaith-i-Mírdain wanted to consult with him over. There was a question of guest-house regulations that really could have been answered by any other council member, but he had happened to walk into the room at the wrong time, so it fell to him. More troubling, there was news of tribal skirmishes to the north. Not only was the prospect of violence within Eregion dreadful by itself, fighting at this time of year would probably result in destroyed food stores and hungry refugees that they had not been counting on.

The discussion on what to do lasted through dinner. Afterwards, Celebrimbor returned to his study and grimly surveyed the remaining paperwork on his desk. He really should finish it tonight and send it to Lindon in the morning, even though that work would likely last until the early hours. He sat down heavily, and began to review the dry account of goods and land exchanged, unable to make himself read at his usual quick pace. 

There was a knock on the door. He pushed down too hard on the quill and it snapped, ink spraying over the paper.

“Morgoth’s balls,” he muttered. “Come in,” he called louder, as he quickly tried to mop up ink.

Annatar stepped in and closed the door behind him. He raised his eyebrows when he saw the ink stained mess that Celebrimbor was trying to contain.

“I was going to see if you had time for those coded scrolls tonight, but I see you’re still working on some less interesting numbers.”

Celebrimbor scrubbed his hands over his face, belatedly snatching them away, remembering the ink. “You’re welcome to look at the scrolls without me, but yes, I have more than enough to keep me busy past midnight here.” He tapped the sand off of paper. “I don’t suppose you have any divine wisdom to share regarding improved accounting?”

Annatar shot him an unamused look. “Yes. Have someone else whose job it is to keep track of such records do the work.” He stepped up to Celebrimbor and scrubbed at a spot on his face. “You have some ink on you.”

“We already talked about this,” Celebrimbor said with frustration, for once too stressed to even register Annatar’s proximity. “I wouldn’t need to do this if I hadn’t let my temper get the better of me with Galadriel.”

“That your cousin is close—” Annatar cut himself off, pressing his lips together for a moment. It seemed he didn’t want to retread this old fight any more than Celebrimbor did.

“It is just such a waste that someone with a mind and abilities like yours spends so much of your time dealing with problems of government that should be solved in moments. You don’t need a council; the people love you here. If you rid yourself of this contentious group of bureaucrats, set yourself up with a traditional rulership, and delegated everything else to skilled persons you trusted, you’d be able to do so much more. Your dreams are so lofty, and these people around you are just holding you back.”

Celebrimbor looked away. The spike of joy he had felt upon seeing Annatar was fading as their familiar argument appeared again. The worst part wasn’t that Annatar didn’t understand—he understood too well. After day after day of being prevented from doing the work that he loved, through the pain of trying to compromise with the rest of the Council of Eregion, it was so tempting to heed Annatar’s advice and rid himself of needless government. He knew they could do it without violence—the idea came up to change towards a more traditional mode every so often, and he was frequently the one who had to shut it down.

But that would mean abandoning his ideas for a new way of running things, going back to first age models of lordship, and he no more wanted to return to that than he did isolationism, to trade secrets, and to pining for Light that would never be seen again. There were compromises he was willing to make, but he would not change the heart of his dream. 

“As discussed last time, power of that kind is not my aim, and the pains of shared rule are worth it for the responsibility everyone feels towards the improvement of Eregion.”

Annatar tapped his hands on the table, studying Celebrimbor with an unnerving stare. Finally he looked away.

“I’m not done with the subject, but it’s also not why I came here tonight.”

Celebrimbor sighed. “I’m afraid I’m not good company tonight. Perhaps tomorrow—”

“I may actually be able to help you.” Annatar pulled a chair around to the other side of the desk and took a sheet of paper from in front of Celebrimbor.

“So your expertise does include a higher level of bookkeeping?” Celebrimbor tried to joke.

Annatar slightly raised his eyebrows at him and picked up a quill. 

“What is this? All the Sindarin carpentry for the year? Where are the related records?”

Somewhat surprised, Celebrimbor passed him a stack of paper. “You don’t have to do this; I was set to finish this tonight.” Or at the very least, early tomorrow.

“If I have to watch you wasting your time on such trivialities, you have to watch me waste mine,” Annatar said.

Celebrimbor suppressed a smile. He wondered if Annatar would still offer to help if he’d known how much it meant to Celebrimbor to see him helping with ‘trivialities.’

~

_ Where in Arda did a Maia learn to do taxes? _ Celebrimbor wondered as Annatar swept another stack of papers into the finished file. For all his biting comments on their classification system, Annatar worked very quickly. He knew Annatar was very intelligent, but it was still surprising that he had the skills of a clerk who’d had centuries of experience.

There was another knock on the study door.

“Come in,” Celebrimbor called again, desperately hoping that it wasn’t someone holding another pile of paperwork.

Celebrían stuck her head in first before entering the room. “Can I talk with you?”

Celebrimbor knew he should say no; Celebrían was not supposed to be wandering around late at night on the Gwaith-i-Mírdain grounds, and she certainly wasn’t supposed to be spending time with Annatar, but if she had schemed her way around her parents’ rules, he didn’t have the heart to stop her.

“We can talk. What did you want to talk about?”

Celebrían closed the door behind her and perched on the desk. She swung her legs as she looked around the room, her need to talk apparently not as pressing now that she was here.

“How did you get here? It’s almost your bedtime and your house is on the other end of the city.”

Celebrían glared at him. “I don’t have a bedtime. I’m almost thirty you know.”

“Oh, my mistake,” he said. “Still, does your mother know you’re here?”

“My mother knows that I am studying with Incanis because I should be taking advantage of the unparalleled educational opportunities available while I’m still in Ost-in-Edhil.”

Celebrimbor looked at her with surprise;  _ when did she learn sarcasm? _

“So, what did you want to talk about?” he asked.

Celebrían pulled out a box from a bag slung over her shoulder. “I made you a Turuhalmë gift.”

Celebrimbor took the box and tapped on the lid. “I’m sorry, your gift is being sent to your parents’ house and is set to arrive on the day itself.”

“That’s fine. Open it!” said Celebrían impatiently.

Celebrimbor opened the lid on the box and took out several silver hair ornaments. There were a few clasps, cast with a geometric pattern that was almost dwarvish in design. They connected to decorative chains that could be woven around the hair to bind it back further.. 

“Did you make these?” he asked. “These are marvelous! When did you gain such skill?”

“You were teaching me all summer!” Celebrían said, trying to sound aggrieved but grinning from ear to ear.

“Oh right; that’s how you are so good.” He winked at her. “These are very beautiful. The chain is so even—many smiths with more experience struggle with something like this.”

“Can I put them in your hair?” Celebrían asked.

“Of course,” Celebrimbor said, sitting on the ground so that Celebrían could easily reach his head. She began unpinning his hair from the braided coils he had fastened it in this morning.

“You shouldn’t wear your hair like this.” Celebrían said with authority. “It makes you look angry.”

Celebrimbor shot a glance at Annatar; he was watching them with a smile quirking across his lips. 

She began to fasten his hair back with the clips. She was quiet now. Celebrimbor heard a few sniffs.

“Celebrían, are you alright?” he asked.

She sniffed again. “Yes,” she said in a strained voice. He turned around and saw tears escaping her eyes.

“Oh Brí.” He tugged on her hand. “Come here.”

She sat down and leaned into him. His shoulder became damp. “I don’t want to leave,” she croaked out, voice muffled.

“I know; I don’t want you to leave either. But you’re going to see such amazing things. You’ll love Khazad-dûm, and I’m sure your mother could be convinced to spend an extra week there. And Lothlorien is also very beautiful. The elves there live in trees, and they have different music and food that you’ll find very interesting.”

Celebrían hiccuped, but was no longer crying. “I don’t want to live in a tree.” 

“They have homes on the ground too.”

“No, I don’t want to leave. Why do we have to go? It’s not fair!”

Celebrimbor rather agreed with her. It wasn’t fair that Galadriel was leaving him, and taking Celebrían. It felt like Galadriel was abandoning him personally, not just the city they had built together. But Celebrían didn’t need to hear that.

“You’ll see me again, and you’ll be able to come back to Ost-in-Edhil when you’re older. And we can write still; there are messengers who travel frequently between here and all the other elven realms.”

Celebrían sighed heavily. “It’s not the same.”

“I know it’s not the same. But it will be good to see other places.”

“Maybe,” Celebrían said with reluctance. 

Celebrimbor kissed her on the top of her head. “Meanwhile, you will be the best silversmith in all of Lothlorien.” Celebrían actually smiled in response to that. 

Celebrían stayed for a while longer, talking about her studies, the presents she was giving other people, and what Khazad-dûm would be like. Celebrimbor finally got her to go back to the room where she was staying; it was too late for her parents probably but too early for Celebrían’s tastes.

After she left, Celebrimbor stood up, and leaned against the desk. “Where was I?” he muttered.

“Everything is finished,” Annatar said. He leaned back from the desk, records in neat piles in front of him.

“Oh, thank you,” Celebrimbor said, startled.

“Do you want one?”

“What?” Celebrimbor began binding leather around stacks of paper in preparation for tomorrow.

“A child. You have a way with your relative. Do you want one of your own?”

“Valar, no,” Celebrimbor said, looking up.

“But you enjoy spending time with your young cousin?”

“Yes, of course, but that’s different than having a child of my own. I just enjoy being the disreputable relative”

“Disreputable?” Annatar asked.

“I’m of the House of Fëanor and yet I’ve stopped constantly apologizing for them—that’s enough to be considered disreputable by many.”

“You seem on good terms with your family. Well, until your latest disagreement with Galadriel.”

“We were on good terms. That’s why I’m so frustrated that she is just choosing to walk away. There are so few of us left, and Celebrían should have had a huge family with four doting uncles. I sometimes feel like I have to make up for all the missing affection. Oh well.” Celebrimbor sat back down, and looked out the window. “Galadriel will come around eventually. And even if I miss Celebrían growing up, this rift won’t last forever, I’ll be able to see her children, and be the infamous uncle again.”

Celebrimbor felt Annatar’s hand cover his own, and realized he’d been restlessly tapping a hairpin against the desk.

“Sorry,” he said. Annatar didn’t move his hand. 

“You’re doing the right thing, whether or not Galadriel approves.”

“I know. I just wish I didn’t have to choose.” He left what, or rather who, he was choosing between unsaid.

Celebrimbor turned his hand palm up and squeezed Annatar’s hand for a moment. 

“I need to take these down to the clerks’ offices,” he said, breaking the moment and moving his hand away.

“Again, something you should be asking someone else to do.”

“It’s late!” Celebrimbor protested. “I have legs, and I’m tired of sitting.” 

Annatar shook his head. “I’ll let you run your errands. Until tomorrow.”

As Celebrimbor made his way down the winding stairs from his rooms to the main offices of the Gwaith-i-Mírdain, he absently flexed his hand and tried not to think about Celebrían’s sad eyes.

~

The night before Turuhalmë, the whole city gathered to sing together. The original custom for the solstice was to stand in silent contemplation until morning, but through the years the ceremony had been shortened to just an evening of song.

As he walked down to the front of the government building, he felt a pang of sadness. He would normally spend the evening with Galadriel and Celeborn, and walk to the city center together. Since Celebrían’s birth, the tradition had become even more special. And now he was going to the festival alone. 

He wasn’t able to mope for long. A group of Gwaith-i-Mírdain caught up with him and whisked him along to the city center, happily chattering about their holiday plans.

The city center was lit up with multicolored lights, children running around in the snow, and some people already doing some impromptu caroling. 

Raenel was already there with another council member. She waved to him. “Is your speech ready?” she asked.

“What? No! Wait, I had to give the speech last year.” Celebrimbor’s moment of panic faded into annoyance as Raenel began cackling at him. They alternated between which of the council members gave the annual Turuhalmë speech, and it was one of Celebrimbor’s least favorite parts of the holiday.

“It’s my turn, but I like that I made you panic for a second there.” Raenel ran off before Celebrimbor could do something like stuff snow down her back. She jogged up the steps of the capitol building and waved her arms to get everyone’s attention.

“Gather around!” she called. As everyone shuffled into place, she began her speech. “Here we are, at another Turuhalmë gathering. We are older, and maybe wiser. Here’s to the many mistakes we made this year!” As he dropped his arms to take the hands of the elves to either side of him, he started when he felt a familiar squeeze to his left.

“Annatar! I’m surprised you’re here.” For once, he hadn’t been aware that the Maia was approaching, his presence masked in the crowd. 

“I thought I would make an exception to my usual rule. It is my first Turuhalmë here after all,” Annatar said.

“Well, I’m glad you came,” Celebrimbor said softly. 

There was something magical about singing together, even like this without actual songs of power or what others would call real magic. As their voices rose to the refrain, the music swelled until it seemed to fill the whole city. 

As he sang, he looked across and square and saw Galadriel and Celeborn with Celebrían between them. Celebrían caught him looking at her and smiled. Celebrimbor tilted his head so that the lights could catch Celebrían’s silver hair ornaments that he was wearing. She broke into a wide grin, and then sang out a soaring soprano echo that he knew was meant for him. 

Annatar did not join in the song. Celebrimbor glanced over at him a few times; he was surveying the singing citizens with his impenetrable gold eyes.

At last, the circles broke apart. Celebrimbor dropped Annatar’s hand a little too late.

“Brim, are you going to the group dinner tomorrow?” Celebrimbor turned to see Tirro, one of the skilled artisans in the Gwaith-i-Mírdain standing there. 

“No, I don’t think so,” he said, hoping Tirro wouldn’t press the matter.

He didn’t. “Ah well, if you change your mind there will be plenty of extra food and space for you.”

“You’re not going?” asked Annatar, with mild surprise.

“No, I don’t think I can muster up the amount of cheer that group will need.” Celebrimbor took a breath and spoke before he had a chance to let nerves get the better of him. “Would you like to join me for dinner tomorrow instead?”

Annatar tilted his head and looked at him appraisingly. “I suppose I also would never be described as ‘full of cheer’”

Celebrimbor laughed softly. “No, and I hope you won’t be as disappointed as others might be if I am too pensive for the occasion.”

Annatar smiled back. “I will join you for dinner.”

Now Celebrimbor just needed to finish his gift tonight.

~

The following evening, Celebrimbor realized his rooms were a mess too late to actually do anything about it. He stuffed some papers in a drawer and put some books on a random shelf; actions he knew he’d regret when he wouldn’t be able to find anything when he needed it. Doing any belated tidying was foolish; Annatar was in his rooms practically every other day. Today was no different than any other day, and he wouldn’t arrive thinking Celebrimbor had suddenly turned into the type of person who always put everything back where it belonged.

He’d ostensibly turned down the invitation to have dinner with a handful of other Gwaith-i-Mírdain in order to work. He sat down, and tried to read some letters from Khazad-dûm.

He was attempting for a third time to read a letter from one of King Durin’s counselors when Annatar entered, his robes impeccably white, satin braid shimmering on his cuffs and collar. He was carrying a bottle of wine and frowned when he saw Celebrimbor sitting at his desk.

“I hope you didn’t think this was going to be a working dinner?” he said.

“Oh no, I was just trying to get some work done before you arrived.” He set down the letter.

Annatar opened the wine and poured it as Celebrimbor built up the fire. It was one of those nights where the whipping wind was blowing snow around outside, masking whether or not fresh snow was falling. The wind howled between the spires of the city. Celebrimbor left the curtains open, the looming mountains in the dark making the room feel smaller and brighter by contrast.

Dinner arrived soon afterwards; duck with roasted vegetables and a hearty sauce, along with some crusty bread. 

For once, Annatar was not letting any work talk worm its way into the evening. Every time the conversation was about to turn towards any of their crafts or politics, Annatar had a story to tell instead. The most amusing story of the evening concerned a local cat. Annatar was several weeks into trying to befriend the fluffiest and most feral cat on the Gwaith-i-Mírdain grounds, but every time he thought he was about to have a breakthrough, the cat would run away, or attempt to scratch him, or simply refuse to acknowledge his presence.

“I never pictured you as an animal person,” Celebrimbor said as he tore another piece off of the loaf of bread. He tried to imagine Annatar kneeling on the ground trying to coax a cat to him and failed.

Annatar waved his hand dismissively. “I love animals, especially ones with rare phenotypes like this cat.”

“What? Are you going to start a breeding program?”

“Why not? If the cat has an admirable personality in addition to looks, that would be a valuable thing to cultivate.”

Celebrimbor sat back with his wine glass. “Animal husbandry is one of the few areas I’ve never attempted to learn. I’m still trying to imagine you with a stable of animals and not quite succeeding.”

Annatar smiled at him. “Breeding animals is far from the strangest thing I have done in ages past.” He turned to look out the window. “Not all of it to successful ends. But maybe if I can do something with old skills it will not all have been a waste.”

Celebrimbor felt warmth creeping through him not entirely due to the wine. He thought of his own years of work on swords and armor, and his now unused designs for weapons. The knowledge was no longer used for warfare but it wasn’t wasted; he still used the same principles often to create new tools and instruments that would not rust and could withstand years of use.

He set down his glass. “I made you something for Turuhalmë.” He stood up to get his gift, opening the drawer he had put it in. He sat down next to Annatar and handed him a cloth bag.

Annatar opened it and drew out the pendant Celebrimbor had spent the past few weeks crafting. Gold curled around the amber gem in the center. Celebrimbor was pleased to see he captured the warm hue he’d been trying to achieve in the gold, the color catching the undertone of Annatar’s skin; both he and jewelry seemed to glow. 

Annatar closed his hand around the pendant and glanced at Celebrimbor. “It feels warm.”

“Put it on; it’s meant to really start working once it’s around your neck.”

Annatar slipped the necklace on and tilted his head back. “I think I could step outside right now and not feel the cold at all.”

“That’s the idea,” Celebrimbor said. “I don’t know if it would hold in the wind right now, but you could probably get away with a lighter cloak than you would otherwise use.”

“You know, I don’t actually feel any ill effects from the cold.” Annatar’s tone was teasing.

Celebrimbor still felt foolish and looked at the fire instead of Annatar. “I know. I was only thinking of how ridiculously warm you keep your rooms. And you haven’t stayed here through the true winter yet.”

Annatar lightly touched Celebrimbor’s shoulder. “No, it’s a fine gift. I hate the cold despite having no reason to.” He reached into a pocket of his robes and pulled something out. “Here, I’ve made you something as well.”

Annatar had not wrapped his gift, so Celebrimbor immediately knew it was made of metal when Annatar placed it in his hand. Touch was the only aspect that set it apart from a real quill, the likeness was so exact, and it weighed very little. He examined the tip; it was devised so that ink would slowly release as it was written with. He had seen some writing utensils like this, but none so finely made. 

“I think you’ll find that a bit harder to break than the natural quills you use,” Annatar said, his eyes searching Celebrimbor’s face. “Hopefully you’ll be able to get the monotonous work done a bit faster with that, and spend more time on the things you love.”

Celebrimbor rolled the pen between his fingers, feeling the perfect balance of the instrument. He looked up at Annatar. “Thank you, I’m sure it will be a wonderful aid.” He then kissed him lightly, just as he would any other friend, trying to ignore the moment his heart stopped when their lips touched.

He sat back; the air in the room felt too warm, and he struggled to think of what he should say next. Annatar looked surprised; he leaned in, seeming to search for something in Celebrimbor’s face. Celebrimbor felt his cheeks heat up; he always felt transparent when he was with Annatar, as if his hidden motives were laid bare. 

Annatar surged forward and caught Celebrimbor in a second kiss that chased out all thoughts of innocent friendship. The kiss drove everything from his mind but the feel of Annatar’s lips beneath his own. Celebrimbor found himself completely frozen—this was beyond all hope. A moment before his stiffness could be perceived as rejection, he was able to move. He wrapped his arms around Annatar’s shoulders, finally able to hold him as tightly as he had long dreamt of.

Then he lost himself to Annatar’s lips, to his hand caught in his hair, and to the feeling of his body against his. They parted for a moment, foreheads still pressed together.

“What,” Celebrimbor took a deep breath, “what does this mean?”

“It means we are done dancing around how we truly feel.” Annatar leaned back, not smiling, but he seemed to shine more than usual. 

“And how is that?” Celebrimbor had to be sure; he couldn’t let a misunderstanding occur here and risk losing Annatar.

“You will make me say it? You who are so fearless in all else?” Now Annatar was smiling. “It means I have never found someone who understands me as you do. You are not afraid to break the chains of tradition, and you do not believe that the entropy of the world is inevitable.”

Celebrimbor stopped whatever Annatar was planning to say next with another kiss. He couldn’t bear to hear anymore; he felt both seen as he never had been before and terrified that now that Annatar’s measure of him was out in the open, he would fail to live up to it. As Annatar’s mouth opened beneath his own, he thought,  _ this is what happiness tastes like _ .

They finally broke apart again, breath faster, and lips swollen. Celebrimbor wrapped his arms around Annatar and leaned against him as he gazed into the dancing flames. 

“I never thought that I would find another who matched me so well. I had resigned myself to the belief that I was one who was fated to be alone,” Celebrimbor said.

“I had thought the same,” said Annatar quietly. “And for longer than your kind have walked the earth.” He threaded his fingers through Celebrimbor’s and slowly moved his thumb over their joined hands.

Celebrimbor closed his eyes against the joy that was welling in him. It felt strange to have such a sudden happiness, and it mingled with the sadness of losing Galadriel and Celebrían soon. The year ahead seemed less dark and lonely with Annatar at his side. He felt hope that despite everything, next year would be better than the last.

**Author's Note:**

> Turuhalmë means 'log drawing' in Quenya and was used as a winter holiday in the Book of Lost Tales II. If you're interested, there's a wonderful article on elven holidays on [SWG](http://www.silmarillionwritersguild.org/reference/linguistic_foolery/holidays.php)
> 
> I'm going with the published Silm version of Finarfin's children, in order to give Celebrían the more excessive number of four uncles on her mother's side.


End file.
